


Breaking Point

by anartsyidjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brotherly feels, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Season/Series 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anartsyidjit/pseuds/anartsyidjit
Summary: “Sammy, all I need is for you to go into your room and sleep for 12 hours, okay? You’re exhausted, man, I can tell” Dean had said earlier that day. And Sam was okay with that. He could do that. Because Dean was back. He wasn’t talking about what happened, but he was back. And the not-talking-about-it Sam could deal with.So everything should be okay, right?--Later that night Sam bolt up, screaming.In other words... Set in season 14, where, after being possessed by Michael, Dean and Sam talk about possession, past mistakes, and everything in between.  They both have a breaking point. Basically, it's just one big broment.  Enjoy!





	Breaking Point

It was quiet in the Bunker.

Nighttime had come, but it was only known by the blue fluorescent lights of the clocks and not by the tiredness of their bodies. Correction: in _Sam’s_ body.

Because in the four sleepless months that it took Sam to get Dean back, the Bunker hadn’t felt like a home. It felt more like a pit stop - one in a journey that would either end with Sam getting his brother back or with his own, self-inflicted death. Sam had realized in those months, not for the first time, that the Bunker would never be a home for him if Dean wasn’t there. Neither would the car or any other dingy motel room that they stayed at. Sure, his mother, Jack, Bobby, and Cass made it a good contender, but it just wasn't the same. It never felt right.

But now, he was back. Dean was finally back home - and besides the initial “are you okay what happened while I was gone” speeches and reunions with everyone, he had fallen back to his normal gig. He was drinking, fussing over the Impala, and proclaiming that he just wanted everyone to stop “hovering over him” because he was “fine.” 

But Sam knew what Dean was doing. Dean was distracting himself; trying to go back into his regular routine before the possession had happened and trying to add a sense of normality and certainty after an event where chaoticness was in full throttle. It was a feeling that Sam knew all-too-deeply.

But Sam also knew (throughout all his time spent with Meg, Lucifer, Crowley, and Gadreel rooting around inside of him) that you can’t reason and logic-your-way out of possession. You can't just go back to your everyday routine trying to forget about it because you _can't_ just forget about it. There is no forgetting. He had tried to, boy for a long time he had tried. But in the end that feeling of having _something else_ inside of you never goes away. Sam thought it never would, really. 

So, for now, he was following Dean's routine. He was playing along. He even looked up possible cases to hunt just to make him happy. 

But he was going to be damned if he didn’t help Dean deal. Because how he dealt - pushing it down and not talking about it - did _not_ work. And he was going to make sure Dean wasn’t going to go through that.  He was certain of it. 

\---

 _"Dean. Hey, hey, hey... He’s gone, Michael’s gone. You’re okay. Hey, you're okay."_   Sam had said to him with a bunch of other soothing crap that he would have made fun of given any other situation. When Michael had left - or, when Dean had kicked him out, letting his body drop in exhaustion to the cold, wet concrete floors of the abandoned warehouse that he had no real recollection of getting to - the first thing Dean felt was an overwhelming hypersensitivity of his own body. At that moment, to have the control of his own autonomy for the first time in 121 days, 14 hours, and 15 minutes - to be able to move his hands and head and look at his brother and see tears of relief and not fear in his eyes, it had been all too much. Too much for him to handle. The next thing he knew he was waking up in his room in the Bunker with Sam and his Mom next to him with Jack, Cass, and Bobby standing concernedly in the doorway. _"You look worried, fellas",_ he had tried to say, but his 40-year-old voice felt new to him and the phrase never made it past his mind. But the look in Sam’s eyes said he knew exactly what Dean meant.

God, had Dean missed those eyes.

\----

And Dean was "fine." Or, that's what he kept telling himself. But days after he had gotten home he still couldn't shake the feeling of being foreign in his own body. He also couldn't shake the nightmares at night, where replays of him screaming against Michael's control, punching the shit out of his brother, and throwing his Mom across the room with a simple flick of the wrist were on repeats. That's not even to mention guilt for the innocent people he (no, not him, _Michael_ ) had waisted for simply "being in the way." And all of those deaths? Despite Michael, they were on him. They were his fault. Because no matter how hard he fought, screamed, clawed, and strained to gain control of his own body, nothing worked. Not a damn single thing, no matter how much he wanted it to. He just wasn't strong enough.

Very early on into the possession, memories had flooded Dean's mind of Stull Cemetary (at the courtesy of Michael, Dean had found out). He got flashes of Lucifer's ( _Sammy's_ ) smirk, saying _"Sammy's long gone"_ in that wrecked apartment all those years ago. He got flashes of Gadreel - of him saying with his brother's frown that _"There is no Sam"_   before leaving him with Kevin's corpse. He got flashes of an enraged Sam (later, after Gadreel's possession has ended), yelling at Dean because _"I wake up to see my hand's killing Kevin, not yours!"_  

Also very early on into the possession, Dean was overwhelmed with the feeling of  _understanding._ Because very quickly, when he was fighting and straining against Michael, trying to stop the brutality of what his body was doing, not a single fiber of his being understood how Sam had gotten control of Lucifer long enough not just to talk to Dean, but to throw himself in the pit too.How had he done it? How had he found the strength to fight? Because now Dean knows, he _knows_ the severity of what Sam had gone through not just with Meg and Lucifer, but with Gadreel, too - something that was his own doing - and, God, why had he been so stupid? Why had he been so selfish as to put Sam through that _willingly, without a second thought?_

("It's because you couldn't live without him," Dean has reasoned with himself.  And he can't, Dean's known that for a long time, but allowing Gaddreel to possess his brother? That was worse than dying. He might have well been sentencing him to endless torture.  But anything to keep him with Dean, right? No costs are too high.)  

So in all the time since he's been back, he's wanted to scream at Sam; tell him to take a swing, kick him out, do anything! Because what Dean did to him? It's unforgivable. I mean, at this point how can Sam not just look at him, but dote around him, constantly asking if he needs anything? If he's okay? How is he not still pissed?

He wants to ask him, scream at him, but damn if he's actually going to.

Because Sam doesn't deserve that. All of that pain and torture? All of that remembering what happened to him? All of the suffering that Dean couldn't stop? Sam doesn’t deserve it. He doesn't deserve any of it. And Dean doesn't want to make him talk just for his own sake. Hell, Sam still hasn't even talked to him about the cage on his own terms, and that's not even to mention any the possessions. 

So, _no_ , Dean decides. He won't talk about it. He wouldn't do that to his brother. 

He doesn't deserve any of that crap.

\----

As Sam layed in his bed still achy and bruised from the title fight against Michael (one of which reminded him of Stull Cemetery, but he tried not to think about that), he let his exhaustion overtake him. It was the first night in a week that he was sleeping in his own room. He had stayed in Dean’s room every night this week for a few hours in between his trips to the library where he would research about possession and recovery (as if he didn’t know everything about it already), waiting to spring into action if Dean needed anything. Sam thought Dean hadn’t noticed, but he had.

But besides the occasional beer and jokes about Sam being his Mom, Dean hasn’t wanted anything.  No advice, no chick-flick moment, nothing. _“Sammy, all I need is for you to go into your room and sleep for 12 hours, okay? You’re exhausted, man, I can tell”_ Dean had said earlier that day. And Sam was okay with that. He could do that. Because Dean was back. He wasn’t talking about what happened, but he was back. And the not-talking-about-it Sam could deal with.

So everything should be okay, right?

\--

Later that night Sam bolt up, screaming.

Lucifer grasped his body, burning through his arms and bones while peeling the skin off his eyelids.  

But before Sam has a chance to scream again, Dean burst through doorway, gun-in-hand, looking for any intruder with a fierce protection in his eyes. But all he sees is his little brother screaming in his bed, thrashing around as if he was trying to escape some touch or memory. The picture immediately sends shivers down Dean's spine. Hell-nightmares, Dean quickly assesses as he discards his gun and moves towards his brother bed not half a second later. Only Hell nightmares. Those Dean could handle.

“Sammy!” Dean says before grabbing onto his brothers flailing arms, trying to steady him. ( _“Sammy…”_ Sam hears Lucier purr, digging the knife deeper between his fifth and fourth rib.)

“Sam! Sammy, it’s just me. It’s just me, buddy.  You’re not there anymore. Sa - _opffhh_ ” Dean reacts as Sam’s wrists snap out of his hold and hit him in a desperate struggle to get away from his touch.

Momentarily off-balance (he had forgotten how much of a fighter Sam was even when he was half-lucid) and ignoring the subtle pain in his left jaw, Dean shifts his position on the bed as he goes to re-grab Sam's wrists.

But at Dean's first touch, Sam screams again; this time crumbling his gigantic body into himself with tears streaking down his face.

And, shit. Sam hasn’t had a nightmare this bad since the Great Wall of Sam came tumbling down.

“Sammy! SAM! Sam, hey, it’s just me, buddy.  It’s just me, it’s just me, hey!”

This time he grabs Sam's arms and starts rubbing them in a comforting manner trying to ground him instead of restrain him. Because if Sam crumbles into a catatonic state, it's going to get ugly really quickly. Dean shivers at the memories. 

"Shhh... Sammy, it's just me. " He keeps saying along with other comforting crap that he only saves for Sam. He's stopped screaming, Dean notices, but in all his life Dean's never seen his brother look so small.  And that scares the shit out of him.  It makes a pit in his stomach that is deeper than anything Alistair or Michael could ever achieve. 

A few minutes later Sam unlodges his hands out of his knees, and  _bingo._ Just what Dean's been waiting for. 

He presses down on Sam’s palm and Sam reacts again. Only this time his eyes bulge open, searching frantically for something Dean can't see. And he's scared. Very much scared. On reaction he flinches at Dean’s touch and something in Dean’s heart breaks.

Dean's tone is softer. “Hey, hey, Sammy. It's just me, okay? No one else is here. It's just us. You with me?” He brings one of his hands from Sam’s wrist to his heaving chest.

Sam looks up to see concerned, and not angry, green eyes staring at him. Not Michael or Lucifer's. Dean's.

Dean must have seen this, Sam guesses, because he loosened his grip on his wrist a little.

“Woah, hey, there buddy…” Dean smiles, seeing Sam’s eyes still on edge as he comes out of the nightmare. 

Sam's sporadic breathes fills the silence until a shaky “Dean?” And at that Dean’s shoulders de-tense instantly.

It’s then that Dean truly sees, in the darkened lighting, how these past four months had not been easy to his little brother. Sam’s eyes were red-rimmed, lined with dark circles, and he skinnier than when Dean saw him last. His cheeks are protruding from his face and his hands are still shaking on Dean’s lap. That’s not even to mention the damage that Dean ( _Michael…_ ) had done to him: a bruised face, three bruised ribs (one broken) and cuts everywhere in between. In conclusion? He looked like shit.

But only a second goes by before Dean snaps out of it because Sam was moving to get away, muttering something about how Dean should go back to bed and that he was fine.

“Woah, Sammy, hey!” Dean says, grabbing Sam's arm. And Sam doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he flinches.  

Then a softer, “Sammy are you okay?”

And Sam just stalls at the question.

Because Sam had researched it before, all those years ago on one of those sleepless nights of Lucifer’s all-nighter-extravaganza, about how trauma victims only felt really secure, then fell apart, after they realized that their torturer had been killed.  He had dreamt about it back then - about killing Lucifer. Because part of him had thought it would never happen. Back then, even if Sam’s soul was back, Lucifer was still alive in the Cage. And alive meant that he was reachable. And reachable had meant it was something he tried not to think about. So he buried himself in any given version of the apocalypse. _I guess I don’t deal with it, not really... I pushed it down and, um... the world kept almost ending and I kept pushing it down_ he had said to Rowena all those months ago. The same went for when Michael had Dean. He pushed it down even if Lucifer was finally dead, because for those four months he only thought about getting Dean back. Everything else went out the window.

But now Dean was back and safe. And he's moved, Sam notices, because now he’s leaning close to him with his hand gripping his arm in a comforting manner like he always did, whispering soft encouragements towards him. But there’s something else in Dean’s eyes now. Something that hadn’t been there before. Sam could have sworn it was a glint of sympathy, but he blames it on the nightmare. His eyes were just not completely focused and -

and _no_. This shouldn’t be happening.  Dean just got back from being _possessed_ , from having his mind and body overtaken in the worst way possible.  Sam should be the one comforting Dean. Sam should be helping him, he shouldn’t be falling apart like this and be -

“Woah. Sammy, breathe, okay? Just breathe for me."

And after a period of silence and deep breathes, Dean whispers "Sammy, please… let me help.” 

And suddenly it’s just overwhelming. Dean’s back and he's here after four months of being away (four months where Sam thought he would never see him again), and he's pressed against his arm as a solid and strong warmth in the quietness of the Bunker and Hell is hitting at his mind and the flames that Lucifer had set to his body were still flickering beneath his eyelids and he still can't wrap his head around that  _Michael_ had possessed _Dean_ and - 

And he notices that Dean's moved again because now his brother's head was on top of his as his own was smashed into the warmth of Dean’s chest.  One of Dean's hands was going through his hair while the other was rubbing his back in circles. He takes a few more deep breaths against Dean’s chest, trying to bury himself deeper into _safe_ , and trying to find the right words that would possibly make sense of his mind. He wants to speak, to have the words fall out. But Dean doesn't deserve that. The words are getting stuck in his throat while his mind is already ten paces ahead. 

All that comes out is a shaky "I'm just really glad you're back."

At that Dean nods, accepting it as an answer for now. Sam can feel his move against his head.

When Dean realizes he wasn't going to speak more, he objects.

"No, Sammy. C'mon.  You gotta do better than that.  I can feel your mind moving a mile a minute." Then a softer, "what's going on up there, huh?"

In the silence, Sam feels the softness of the blankets they are sitting on. 

Tears start to form at the back of eyes again and his body goes tense at the images and words that are still flashing through his mind.  

And at that Sam just breaks.

He unravels.

He just needs his big brother.

“One day, in the Cage, when it was real bad…” A breathe, and he pulls away form Dean’s embrace as he continues, “and it was when all of the years down there had started to morph together into one just lifetime of _hurt_ and I and I couldn’t remember anything except the pain, and this life - you, Dad, the Bunker, Stanford, all of it - seeming like too far away to reach, and Lucifer was violating me in ways that I can’t even…” a little shaky laugh. Dean squeezes his arm.

 _It's not something I really know how to share_ he had also told Rowena that day.  But now the words are just tumbling out.

“And I - I smiled….” And at that something in Dean’s heart stops. That’s not what he was expecting.

“Because I knew that since I was down there... since he was ripping me apart and tearing at my soul _no_ one would ever know what that felt like.  No one would ever know what it felt like to have an archangel cutting your organs out, peeling your skin off, and raping not just your body but your mind," a shaky laugh, "because when archangels possess you they have the best ammo against you. They have every memory, every thought, every doubt that you’ve ever had-”

And Dean is struck with how much of Sam’s words are making sense to him. Dean never thought he would find someone more creative than Alistair, but with Michael he did. And a few times in the middle of the possession Dean has been petrified not at what he was seeing in front of him, but at the realization that if this is how bad Michael was only _inside his head_ , he could only imagine what he was capable of when they were trapped together in a cage with nothing to entertain himself with but torture.  He couldn't even imagine what Lucifer had been _fully_ been like even if he understood the feeling of possession. He couldn't imagine what Sam had gone through.

"-and they use it to tear you apart until there is nothing left of you.  Dean sometimes I’m afraid that he knew me better than he knew myself. But now..”

And Dean tries to stop him there - _because fuck him, nobody knows you better than I do, and -_

“But now I screwed up and I failed.  I failed you in a way I swore to myself I never would.” And Sam pushed away, anger in his body and tears still on his face (when did he start crying?)

Now there is anger in his voice. “Because you were _never_ supposed to know what that felt like, Dean. I made that promise to myself a long time ago. You were never supposed to know.  And now you do.” His voice cracks. "You know what it feels like to be possessed and there's nothing I can do to change that. And Dean I'm so sorry. I'm sorry..."

Sam had avoided Dean’s gaze for most of the speech.  And he was glad he did because the moment he does look up there’s wetness and a seriousness in Dean's eyes that makes him want to look away.  But he doesn’t. Dean reached out to grab his arm again, and this time he melts into the touch.

Dean's voice is deadly serious.

“Sammy you listen to me.  What happened with me? That was _not_ your fault. It was my choice to say Yes." A pause. "And you what? I’d do it again.”

At that Sam's angry again. Because why would he allow himself to be possessed, to sacrifice himself like that? Why didn't he give a damn about himself, even after all this time? Why doesn't he care?

“But why, Dean?” Sam says, his body shaking. Then there's a quieter “why would you do it?”

“Lucifer had you, Sam.  He had you. And I couldn’t let him hurt you again. I couldn’t let him hurt Jack… I-"

Dean's voice is clogged with emotion.

"- Sammy, when he took you he had my whole life with him.

“And, you know, it was _my_ choice, and no matter how much it felt like...like I couldn’t control my body, and I couldn’t help but watch as I punched you over and over...,” a scene that reminded him all-too-much of a reverse Stull Cemetary. Dean shivered at the memory.

“...But I don’t regret it. No matter what’s happened since then I don’t regret it. Never. Because if I hadn't gotten to you Lucifer could have killed you.  And I couldn't take that chance.”

There's a small silence, but it’s heavy in the way Dean’s stare is so sturdy. Sam is about to fight back, argue that he wasn’t worth it, but Dean speaks first. His voice is hesitant.

“But Gadreel, that wasn’t your choice to make.”

Sam snaps his head up, confused. “What?”

Dean just stared at him, eyes now hesitant and glossy, as if he was debating with himself if he should continue.

“I never really understood, after the angels fell, why you wanted to die.  Hell, up until four months ago I still didn’t really fully understand it. I mean, your life for a small time of possession? No brainer.  Anything to keep you with me, right? I was too… I didn’t fully understand the effects of what I was doing. Not until this.”

“Dean…” Sam starts, but Dean keeps talking. And now he’s the one who can’t stop.

“But now… Sammy I understand. I understand the helplessness of it all - of being trapped inside your own body, or not being able to control that the angel who is possessing you is killing your friends - killing your family - and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Of having them use every opinion you’ve ever had against you. Sammy even of Alistair’s most creative days on the rack he never once did the magnitude of what Michael did.  And to think that I did that to _you_ without batting an eye…” Dean stops to wipe the wetness of his cheeks. 

“Dean you didn’t know. And I forgave you a long time ago, you know that.”

“But how can you, Sam, huh? How? What I did to you? What I put you through?” Dean dips his head, trying to hide the complete anger that is in his eyes, but all he seems to notice are the bruises on Sam's face and the hurt that he had caused. He can't seem to look away. 

“Dean…” 

More tears fall from his face. “Sammy I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry... And I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough”

“What do you mean?”

“To take control sooner, over Michael. I tried, Sam. I screamed and I fought till there was nothing left. But it wasn't enough. No matter what I tried it wasn’t enough. And I couldn’t do it. And you want to know what that was like?" Dean's voice breaks. "I had to watch, over and over, as you tried to save me, but I only broke your body in return. Sammy, I was scared when you showed up, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop Michael from beating the shit out of you. I wasn’t…”

And that’s when Sam’s had enough.  He reached over, grabs Dean’s shoulder, pulls until there is no space left between them, and he’s overwhelmed with the scents of leather, gunpowder, and home. The bruises that plague his body all seem to disappear in that moment as Dean puts his arms around him, then grabbing his shirt trying to get him closer. They don’t know how long they sit there, wrapped around each other, burying their heads in each others shoulders.

Suddenly everything that’s happened in the last four months disappears, and it’s just the two of them. They’re both crying, but neither one jokes about it. Because it’s been too damn long since they’ve done this.  Too damn long.

Sam pulls back, but his hand still lingers on Dean’s shoulder, not willing to give up total contact yet. Because Dean needs to know something.

This time there was a strong certainty in his voice. “Dean, what Michael did while possessing you, it wasn’t your fault, okay? None of it is. You didn't hurt me. Michael did. And Dean, he kept you away from us for months. I’m sorry that I couldn’t find you faster.” Tears in his eyes. “Dean I’m so sorry -

“Sammy, you did the best that you could -" 

“Doesn't matter. Because the second I did find you, though? Long enough for me to actually get through to you? You got control, Dean. You won. You kicked him out.” 

  _Because of you_ , Dean wants to say. But what comes out is "Not soon enough."

 “No. Dean, you gotta believe me, okay? You gotta believe that. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is. Not the bruises on my body or Mom's or Cas's or any of the innocent people that Michael killed. None of it. It wasn't you.”

And then Dean just listens, is weirded out because Sam seemed to have read his thoughts, and it grows quiet between them.

A heavy but safe quiet. 

Then a faint smirk grows on Dean's lips.

“You gonna grow a beard? Because if you’re going to go all Good Will Hunting on me you should at least look the part.”

“Bite me.” Sam says as he drops his arm from his brother's shoulder, but there is nothing but smile behind his voice. And them Sam looks up to meet Dean’s eyes, and he smiles.  That smile he’s known all his life.

Silence comes again.  But this it is full of contempt.  

They both relax in the moment of it all, realizing that the chick-flick is soon to be over with. But there's still something nagging in Dean's mind.

“And Sammy? Lucifer doesn’t know you better than you know yourself. _I_ know you better than you know yourself, better than anyone else. Want to know how I know that? Because I raised you. Because I was lucky enough to raise my best friend and my brother. I know every stupid geek phase you went through as a kid, every person you’ve saved, and every cut, bruise, scar on your body. I know you. The true you. Not the version of yourself that you have in your mind. Not the one that Lucifer knows. Okay?

Sam stares at him with a new wetness in his eyes, and then Dean adds a softer, “And Sammy? I always knew you were going to find me one way or another. I wasn’t sure of much, but I was sure of that.” 

At that Sam faintly smiles and meets Dean's eyes. In them Dean can see it all; all of the clogged up emotion that is threatening to spill over again but will never make it past his brother's mouth, all of the  _thank you's_ and  _I know's_ and  _I need you's_ that he wants to say but can't.  And Dean understands.

So he smiles back.

They both pull back a little, looking at the haphazard blankets on Sam's bed.

Dean breaks the silence after studying Sam's skinny figure. 

“You up for some pancakes?”

“Dude, it’s like 3 in the morning,” Sam laughs, playing in the familiar banter. Because they both know that if they try to go back to sleep now, it would never come.  

“Exactly. Now c’mon. I’ll even make you one of those girly coffee drinks you like.” Dean says, putting his arm behind Sam’s back and squeezing his neck, leading him out into the hallway before grabbing the door.

Sam stops him before they leave his room.

“Dean? What you said earlier...  I just want you to know it goes both ways.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, Sammy… I know.”

They hold each other’s gazes for a few seconds before exiting the room.  And everything between them, love, family, whatever it is, it was the stuff that made the Bunker a home for both of them. Even at 3 a.m. 

They both realized it of course, but they would never admit it.

Because after all, they were the Winchesters. Tough, broody men who had never had chick-flick moments.

Only sometimes, they did.

And they both secretly loved it.

**Author's Note:**

> You know what? I didn’t plan for this to be a long story - but you know when there’s a simple scene in your head that you think will take no time at all to write down but then takes ten pages to explain? That's what happened. Ha! Jokes on you, brain for thinking about simplicity. 
> 
> Anyways - hope you guys like it! Sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammar errors that I didn't notice - it's my first fic, so comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated! xo


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